Come Together
by Magali1
Summary: A series of vignette character POVs surrounding one event that gets everyone back to Dillon. POVs are: Eric, Tim, Tyra, Tami, Jason, Matt, Julie, and Lyla. Major angst. Complete.
1. Eric

**A/N:**Returning to my fic-writing roots with this one. It's a series of vignettes from one character's POV, surrounding one common event. It's a little on the sad side- I tend to jump from absurdity to sadness with my fics, LOL. Enjoy as best you can and hopefully the character POVs for the ones I rarely ever write are appropriately in-character. This is set a little at Christmas, just because that's the time of year it is now. Thanks :)

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**Eric**

It would be fitting that today was a sunny day, Eric thought, leaning against the window of the hotel room, staring out at the main street running through town. It was so much busier; or at least, it seemed like it was. More people, more cars, and more restaurants and shops. A Starbucks managed to sneak its way into town, but he'd heard that it was still struggling against the mom and pop coffee shop that had been down the street for the last two decades.

The entire town seemed like it was out in full force, everyone wearing black. Well, he thought, sighing and glancing down at his shirt cuffs, which were still loose around his wrists. He lifted up his left arm, fumbling a bit with the button. For Christmas Julie had gotten him a nice pair of cufflinks, with his initials, but he just didn't feel like this was the proper venue to wear them. This was a simple affair, or at least, as simple as it could be. He stepped away from the window, still fumbling with the wrist button. "Damnit," he cursed, as his fingers fumbled again.

"Daddy let me get it." He looked up, smiling as Gracie, all tall and lithe at fifteen-years old, approached him from her attached room. She was wearing a simple black dress and cardigan, her feet in black flats. He lifted his wrist, smiling again. "Thank you sweetheart. You look nice."

Gracie shrugged, whispering and fixing the button on his left wrist. "I don't know about that." She reached for his right wrist and did that button as well, smiling and dropping her hands to her sides. "There. All done." Thank you. He sighed, studying his daughter. Fifteen. Good Lord, I remember when you were born. Almost missed it. Brought you home and didn't want to leave you. That had been during the whole TMU debacle, he thought. He smiled a little, sadder this time. Gracie cocked her head, her straight strawberry-blonde hair falling over her shoulder. "Daddy? What are you thinking?"

He shook his head slightly, stepping away from her and reaching for his tie, hanging over the desk chair. Tami had laid out all their clothes the night before. She'd been…well she'd been strong and steady. His rock. Waiting for the moment when I'll need her most, he thought, looking in the mirror and slinging his tie over his neck, speaking softly as he knotted it. "I was just thinking of this memory I have. You were just a baby and I was working in Austin. Mom and Julie and you were alone at the house and I was trying to go back and forth and…and I got this phone call in the middle of the night to meet halfway between Dillon and Austin at a truck stop."

"Drugs?" Gracie teased.

He chuckled. No, that probably would have been less dramatic. "No," he sighed, pushing the knot up and whispering as his hands fell to his sides. "Just a friend looking out for me…trying to get me my job back." It hadn't been because of Tami and Gracie and Julie. It had been selfish, naturally. The too-tough coach or the familiar State-winning one? There had been an easy way in, an easy way to convince. Your family needs you. No, Eric thought with a tiny smile. No, you just wanted me back. Football trumped all. Although maybe there was a bit of concern there for his family. He had briefly wondered at the time. "Haven't thought of that in…gosh years." Hadn't thought of a lot of things.

"Sounds like a nice guy," Gracie whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. She shrugged, soft. "I wish I'd known him."

You're just being polite. Sweet girl. He walked over and kissed the top of her head, collecting his jacket. "Let's go downstairs and wait for your mother to finish in the bathroom."

He wrapped his arm around Gracie's waist, calling to his wife, who had been in the bathroom for the last hour, that they'd be downstairs in the lobby, they'd leave in ten minutes. He got an okay response and left, walking out of the room and closing the door quietly. They went down the hall to the elevator and he looked up when someone joined them. "Hey Matt," he said, seeing his son-in-law, who was fumbling with a large portfolio. He frowned a little, gesturing. "That's in there."

"Ah...photos," he said. He shrugged, switching the portfolio to his other hand. "I was just told to blow up the pictures, so...so I did."

"Who did you talk to?"

Gracie frowned, whispering. "What's it matter?"

Because it does, he thought, thinking about the people affected by this. Matt's voice dropped, and his eyes lifted up. "You and I both know that he was never one for organizing, but...hell he's planned this entire thing. I don't think she's been...in the right mindset, you know Coach?"

Married to my daughter for the last five years and I'm still Coach. He quirked his lip a little, thinking briefly on what he'd just said. Yeah, things around here had really changed. He looked up again when another door opened and shut, his daughter and wife walking out together, dressed in almost matching black dresses, except Julie had on a coat over hers. The last time we all gathered like this, or at least, the majority of them, it had been for Matt's father's funeral. That seemed ages ago. We really need to meet each other again for something good, he thought, stepping into the elevator with everyone. In the lobby, they walked out together, greeting others who had flown in for this. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking out to their rental car. At the door, he turned his head, looking out down the street again.

Maybe we should come back. He'd thought that so many times in the last few years. How many offers had he had? Probably a million. The salary had all but quintupled with every request to return. He'd ignored so many of those phone calls. I probably should have answered at least a couple, he thought, sightly guilty. There was no changing it. You could think back on everything in your life and have a million regrets if you so chose. "Eric?"

His wife's quiet voice across the top of the car roof drew him from his thoughts. She smiled sadly. "Come on, we have to get to the church."

Oh yes. The church. He glanced back around the street, shaking his head slightly and climbed into the car, where he took a deep breath and steeled himself. Time to say goodbye. It would be a long, long day.


	2. Tim

**Tim**

How do I get this damn tie straight? I hate ties. He dropped his hands to his sides, staring at the knotted mess at his neck. More like a noose, he thought, turning away and glancing at the woman on the other side of the room, placing an earring in her ear. She had been trying to get the same earring in the same ear for the last fifteen minutes. He sighed, walking over and reaching to touch her elbow lightly, drawing her attention towards him. He pointed to his neck. "Can you help me?"

It wasn't that he couldn't tie a tie. He could. But…he just needed her mind off of things. Keep your hands moving, he thought, staring straight at her as she let go of the earring, reaching up to fix his tie. "You really need to learn how to do this," she murmured, slowly maneuvering the ends of the tie around, until it was a neat knot at his collar. Her hand pressed to his chest, and she smiled slightly. "I like a man in a tie."

"You like me in a tie," he teased, glancing down at her earrings. He picked one up, carefully slipping it into her ear. "I like these, they bring out your eyes." They were simple silver hoops, with small sapphires.

"Daddy got them for me when I was born." She touched one of the hoops, her voice fading as she stepped around him. "Thought it was fitting to wear them today."

Yes, he thought, nodding and glancing over his shoulder as she walked to the window, staring outside. It was a sunny day. Fitting, he thought, walking towards her and reaching to place his hands on her shoulders. "At least it's a nice day," he whispered. Anything, just anything, he thought, to keep her mind moving and not thinking. It was hard though; she wouldn't let him in. Not that she had to let him in, but…what did Mindy call him the other day? Her pitbull. The one to stand at her side and bite off people's hands if they got too close to her during this ordeal.

It didn't seem to register with her for a moment. Until she shook her head, her voice faraway. "The ground is still too hard," she murmured.

Aw man, don't think of things like that. He bit his lower lip. What am I supposed to tell you? How am I supposed to make this easier on you? Usually he knew with her. Or he at least had some idea. This was just…this was too difficult for him. It wasn't even like they were super serious. He swallowed hard, shrugging. "Do you…do you want to talk before we go?"

She kept her gaze straight through the window outside. At first she'd been staying in the condo and he'd been on the couch, but then he'd woken up to her crying and saying she couldn't stay there. So now she was here. Hell, we're not even really together, he thought, running his tongue over his teeth. "Hey," he whispered, carefully turning her around. Her eyes were dull and downcast. He tilted her chin up, smiling a little. "You know what you're going to say?"

Instead of answering that question, she shrugged. Her voice was dull again. "Do you think this is what he wanted?"

I don't know. We prepared as best as we could on such short notice. He'd been there from the beginning. He was the one who called her to the hospital. The one who was there holding her when the doctor came out and broke the news. The one who, believe it or not, picked out the casket because she couldn't and her siblings weren't really in the mood either. The one who called and planned. I was there. I've always been there, he thought, reaching to flick an imaginary eyelash from her cheek. It was really just an excuse to touch her, he thought, dropping his hand down to rub at her upper arm. "Yes," he answered.

"I'm not talking about the funeral," she said. She shook her head, her hands falling to her hips and her eyes downcast again. She closed them and sighed, whispering. "He…he wanted grandkids and…and a son-in-law. He didn't want this…this thing. He told me so. I got mad at him and…and told him to stop trying to control my life and…I just…it's all I can think about right now…"

The last time Matt Saracen spoke with his dad he yelled at him. Got in a fight and was angry. Hated him, he thought, thinking about what Matt had said to all of them. He shook his head and whispered. "You can't change that now." And you can't make any big decisions right now. It's why I'm not making any big decisions right now, but after this, you and I are getting out of here. We're going to Mexico or something. Where you won't have to think about how you disappointed him in any way, because I don't think you did. "No regrets," he said, reaching for her again, but she'd already turned away from him, not looking him in the eye.

Her heels clicked on the hardwood and she walked away, calling over her shoulder. "We have to get to the church. The caterers have to set up here for after and I need to make sure that my brother and sister are actually going to be here."

Fine, he thought, remaining standing. He sighed and followed her, deviating from her path to the kitchen by sneaking into his office, where he had a piece of paper sitting on the desk. He'd been scribbling on it earlier that morning, preparing for…well he didn't know what for, as the program had been scheduled out to not take very long. She wanted it over quickly, she said. A funeral at the church, a few words by the pastor, a eulogy, and maybe a song by the choir and then a private memorial at the grave for the internment.

All he knew was that he needed to be the backup, because he really wasn't sure that she'd be able to get through. So he folded the piece of paper in half, shoving it into his inner suit pocket. We'll see, he thought with a hard sigh, walking out of the study and finding her getting her coat on. "Do you want to get anything before we leave?" he asked.

"No." Fine, he thought, not pushing her. He closed the door behind him, walking behind her to the truck. She opened up the door and climbed in, shoving her sunglasses on and whispering. "Let's get this over with."

Okay then, he thought, swallowing hard and turning the key in the ignition. Tim hoped he wouldn't have to get up and speak, but…hell he just hoped they could get through this day. Her especially.


	3. Tyra

**Tyra**

"Mom you know, this is just a funeral, and I mean it's him you know? It isn't like…" she trailed off, not wanting to get into it. Well Mom, it isn't like the President died. Or me or someone who really mattered in life. She parked the car in a space near the front of the church, scanning the crowd of people streaming from the parking lot and up into the low-rise building. She glanced sideways, sighing and reaching to squeeze her mom's wrist, which was resting over her black patent leather bag. "I know it's hard."

Her mother glanced sideways, not really looking at her. She was wearing a big black hat, with a fake plastic flower and netting over her eyes. Like a 1950s widow, she thought, knowing that in a sense her mother only ever had two long running relationships with a guy and that was her father and this one. Both were dead. At least, she always thought her father was dead. Hadn't seen or heard from him in decades.

I am trying to be sympathetic, she thought to herself. It's just difficult. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. This is about your mom now, not you. Okay. She took a deep breath. "Let's just go inside," she whispered, climbing out of the car and closing the door behind her, where the loose windowpane rattled in the frame. She walked around and helped her mother out. She linked their arms together, patting her wrist again, comfortingly. She sighed, spying some people she knew.

As they approached the church, she saw the line of people greeting those going inside. Well this might be awkward, she thought, sighing again and biting her lower lip, greeting a girl who had dreadlocks and was wearing very loose fitting, rather vibrant clothing for a funeral. Beside her was a guy that looked exactly like him and then there was…oh thank God, someone she wanted to see. "Hey," she said, breaking from her mother for a moment to give him a tight hug. "How are you?"

"Dealing," he said, letting go of her and glancing across the corridor. He shook his head, whispering. "She's not doing well. I don't think it's hit her yet." Well death was tricky like that, she thought, spying the other woman across the corridor, shaking hands with everyone as they entered the church. Yeah, she thought, swallowing hard. Didn't seem like she was really noticing or seeing anyone.

As more people entered, she moved, stepping into the chapel, where she could see through the louvered windowpanes, the casket up at the altar, surrounded by yellow and blue flowers, with two giant poster size pictures on easels beside the casket. They'd been treated with some sort of sepia and black and white tone. Probably Matt did that, she thought. I'll have to find them. Haven't seen them in awhile.

This was so surreal, she thought, giving him another hug. He'd need it, she thought, breaking away when she felt someone's eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the other woman narrowing her gaze, clearly annoyed at their closeness. "Uh-oh. I think she's mad at me." I'm here for five seconds and she already hates me. Whatever. Be nice, her conscience immediately said after the dismissive thought. This is not the best time in her life. Give her a break.

He looked around her, his hand dropping from where it had been resting on her waist. "Yeah. She just…it's just not been very good." He ran his tongue over his teeth, whispering. "I was going to…to propose at Christmas. Now I don't know what we're supposed to do."

Jesus. I had no idea things were that serious with you guys. Hell, that was in four days, she thought, shaking her head. What a time, what a time for this to happen. She looked up at him again, frowning slightly. "Does she know that?"

"It's just not the right time now." He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking lost again.

Okay. He's gone now, in a world, I can't reach him now. She reached to give him another hug. "Let me know if you need anything…" Her voice trailed off as he broke away from her without a word, walking over to join his…whatever she was, who seemed at a loss when former Mayor Rodelle broke down crying in front of her.

Yeah, I can't be latching on to him; he had his own issues today. She stepped over to her mother, leading her into the chapel, up at the front. She sat down in the pew, smiling over at Coach Taylor and Gracie. Wonder where Julie is, she thought, looking around and not seeing her. I'll catch up later. I'm here for mom, she thought, glancing up at the casket. Surreal, she thought again. It seemed like a big joke. He'd pop out of the casket and say that it was all just a big funny. Maybe some fundraiser or scheme or something. She was not a fan of the man. Never had been. Probably never will be, even though he was gone.

Tried to pay my mother off and yet for some reason she still kept going back to the man. At least he wasn't married when they'd get back together for a few months or years. She reached her hand over and slipped it into her mother's, squeezing hard. "It's so weird," her mother whispered, looking down at the program. She sniffed. "Seems like a big joke. He should be here."

"Yeah." What else was she supposed to say? I'm numb. Guess that's a good word for it. I feel bad; I have no real emotion either way. I feel bad for the people, but…she sighed, frowning slightly. Does this make me a bad person? I mean…I might miss him a little, but more like…more like missing something because you were so used to it being there. It wasn't like she'd really miss him per sae.

And it also wasn't like she'd miss how her mother would cry and get all depressed when they broke up. Just to get back together with the guy and then have that go at it end in anger and broken windshields. Her mother sniffed, wiping at her nose with a balled up Kleenex. "Here Mom," she said, turning and getting up, tip-toeing across the aisle to Mrs. Taylor. "Can I get a Kleenex?"

To her surprise, when the other woman looked up, she saw that Tami's eyes were red-rimmed. She didn't know Mrs. Taylor would be so upset by this, but…okay. She thanked her and took the small package of Kleenex, sitting back down with her mother and passing it over to her. She waited, turning her head to watch the family walk down the aisle. The one daughter, the son and then the others.

It was a small group, she thought, leaning forward a little as they took the first pew. She glanced at her mother again. No longer crying, but still upset. Holding it together, thankfully. "It's going to be alright Mom," she murmured, squeezing her fingers again. "You're going to move on, it'll be fine."

"It's not about that," her mom said. She smiled slightly, whispering and looking down at her hands. "I just miss him…he was always there and now he's not and…and I just keep wondering about…about if I could…"

"Mom, no. No one could."

"I told him to go to the doctor."

"And he didn't." That was his problem. She shook her head, whispering. "Don't think like that. It isn't your fault. It's no one's fault." Somehow though, she wasn't sure her mother believed her or was taking her advice. Hell, now she felt angrier with him. He'd taken her mother, messed her up, and now she was sad and God knew how long it would be for her to move on. Push it down, she thought. The guy is dead now. This is his funeral. Be angry later. She took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to the pastor, who was speaking now, reading from the Bible. She shook her head slightly, not listening and zoned out.

Several minutes later, she pulled herself from thinking about the work she had sitting on her desk back in D.C. She looked up at the altar, where the pastor had stepped aside, the entire room going far more silent as the pretty woman in the crisp black dress walked up to the pulpit. "Poor thing," her mother whispered from beside her. She was shaking her head, wiping at her eyes with the Kleenex. "Always thought she was just so snooty, but no one should have to go through this."

Well that's nice of you to push aside your despise for her in this moment Mom, she thought with an eyeroll. Maybe I can follow in your stead.

At the pulpit, she tapped her finger to the microphone, sending a slight vibration of static through the silent church. She cleared her throat, staring down at a piece of paper she'd removed from her pocket. For a moment, it seemed like she'd be able to speak, until she stepped aside, dropping her face to her hands, hiding a sob. Aw, damnit.

Before she could even think, she was leaning forward and poking him in the shoulder in front of her. "Go. Now," she whispered. He was already standing up, striding up to the pulpit, removing a piece of paper from his black jacket.

It was awkward, embarrassing, and just plain sad, she thought, as he unfolded the paper and cleared his throat, beginning to speak, his deep voice clear and concise, which it never was. Guess there's a time for everything, she thought, as the other woman retreated to her brother and sister, hiding her tears behind her hand. Don't ever give him a microphone; the joke was, she thought, her eyes falling away from the casket, the flowers, and goofy pictures around the altar to the woman, who was pained, her arms around herself and staring off at nothing. She glanced back at her mother, who was in a similar position. What the hell was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to help fix this problem?

And that, Tyra thought, sighing hard and closing her eyes….that was why she hated this. Why she was sad that he'd died. Not because she'd miss him, because quite frankly she was sure she wouldn't, but because of what it was doing to others. She shook her head and squeezed her mother's hand, listening to the eulogy and wondering when this was going to be over so they could just move on.


	4. Tami

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! I know this is a sad fic, but it's something I've had in my head for awhile to write. Thanks :)

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**Tami**

Tami reached her fingertip up to wipe at her eye, trying hard not to smear her mascara. Waterproof my ass, she thought, lowering her hand back down to deftly wipe the smeared mascara on her fingertip on a Kleenex in her purse. She set her bag aside, between her and the side of the pew, glancing at Gracie, who had been comforting Eric, even if she didn't know it. Maybe it was good to have someone here who didn't have any memories of him. Who was acting as a rock for those of us who are kind of a mess.

I cannot believe I'm crying this much, she thought, sniffing and looking back up at the pulpit. I never cry this much, unless it was related to her family. Guess that answers it, she thought with a tiny smile. He was part of the family, whether she knew it had happened or not. Dear Lord, just get me through this afternoon, she thought. She leaned back in the pew, looking up back up to the pulpit.

Her hand was clutched around Eric's. He'd been very strong throughout this, but he wasn't one to break down and show his emotions like that. Stoic, that was the word she always thought to use with him, but he'd been devastated. They'd received the news a week ago, coming home from a football game. He'd been tired, as the team had lost a heartbreaker of a game. They'd come in the house, like normal, when Gracie said someone named Tim Riggins had called. Told her that he said it was urgent and to call back. That could never be good and they hadn't spoken with him in almost two years, so when she called, she had been expecting good news. Instead, she'd gotten sad news.

I told Eric, she thought idly. I told him, after hanging up with Tim. He hadn't believed it. Not for a few hours, until he'd sat beside her, numb, on the edge of the bed in their room and began to pour out emotion, saying they should have spoken more. How come they hadn't spoken more? Hell he was annoying, one of the most annoying people in their lives, but now what? She'd sat there too and then they'd started laughing a little bit. Stupid, silly things. After that moment he hadn't really shown much in way of mourning.

But now, here they were, a week later, and she was the one sobbing her heart out and he was the stoic one. It seemed weird to her. She was drawn back into the moment by her daughter, sitting behind her. "I know we say to never give him a microphone, especially after what happened at our wedding, but he's killing it up there right now," Julie whispered. Matt made some sort of sound of acknowledgment.

Yes, she had to agree, her eyes focused on Tim, at the pulpit, nervously tugging at his black tie as he spoke about how the town wouldn't ever really be the same again. He looked very nice, she thought, admiring the all black suit he was wearing. But she had to agree with him. No, the town wouldn't be the same. There were very large shoes to fill and she was sure no one would be able to fill those shoes again. She glanced sideways to the woman beside him, looking lost, her hands over her stomach. Poor thing, she thought, shaking her head and closing her eyes. What a time to lose someone.

"My dad wasn't…" Tim took a deep breath, forcing her attention back to him, listening intensely as his voice dropped again. He glanced at the casket. "My dad wasn't in my life too much and when he was, it wasn't good and he wasn't really a father in those times. It didn't matter though, because in the end I did have a dad. A couple years ago…" He smiled to himself, whispering. "Couple years ago he started saying that he might have had three kids, but he actually had four." He took another breath, smiling a little. "And I guess I could say I had a dad again."

That was sweet, she thought, smiling and feeling Eric squeeze her hand harder. She returned the squeeze, glancing back to the casket again. You always annoyed me, she thought, smiling a little. Whenever you stopped by, I just closed my eyes and was thinking 'What now? What could possibly be going on now?'

She glanced sideways at Eric again, reaching her free hand over to squeeze at his upper arm, rubbing gently and comfortingly. He took another deep breath, focusing on Tim at the pulpit, who was finishing up. "This is really nice, Tim speaking," she murmured, knowing Eric probably wouldn't respond. Which he didn't, but she got a slightly nod out of him. She smiled again, trying not to let the tears that were pricking her eyes fall. Later, right now she needed to be as composed as possible. For him.

"I know we're all going to miss you," Tim said, finishing up the eulogy. He signed off with the standard phrase in Dillon that her husband had coined, murmuring 'clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose', when a soft voice spoke up from beside him, sending dead silence throughout the church.

"I want to say something."

She looked up, smiling gently when the other woman approached the microphone, stepping in front of him. It brought to mind her mother's funeral. At the time she'd been newly married, probably only a few months, and at the time she had no idea that she'd actually been pregnant with Julie. She just thought she was emotional because well, her mother had died. Shelly couldn't say anything, she was too upset and too young at the time to even know what to say. Their father wasn't in the picture anymore, so…she'd gotten up there after almost breaking down, letting her aunt take over and give most of the eulogy before she got the courage.

It was good. It was closure, she thought. "Is she going to be okay?" Eric asked, glancing sideways. "Tim looks ready to pounce."

Actually, no he doesn't, she thought, disagreeing. He was giving her room. Standing close in case she needed it, but allowing her room to breathe. "She'll be okay," she murmured, glancing back at the casket. You did good with that one, she thought, knowing that he could hear her, wherever he happened to be. You screwed up more times in a day than most people did in a month, but of all things in your life, the one thing that turned out to be all right, was your daughter.

"My father was a complicated man," Lyla said, her voice quiet and high-pitched, even more so from the tears she was threatening to hold back. "But he was also pretty simple. Tim summed it up well. All he needed was a beer, a Panther football game, and people around him. Yes, he was simple like that, but he was complicated. He just…he didn't know when to quit and he could be too much for someone to handle. He could be incredibly selfish, doing and thinking only for himself and for his life and then expect you to feel sorry for him when he failed miserably and brought you down with him…. " She took another breath, her eyes closing tight. "But he was also very loving. He tried to be a good father, even if he didn't go about it right sometimes." A tiny laugh escaped her and she closed her mouth, hiding a smile, her voice a bit stronger. "He didn't want me dating this guy…couldn't stand him anywhere near me…but then ten years later he was trying to convince me to finally own up to it and marry the guy he couldn't stand earlier… even called him his second son." She smiled, causing a ripple of chuckles through the church.

Go on, she thought, smiling and silently encouraging. Eventually she didn't have to try to encourage from her seat in the front pew, knowing that the other woman would be okay. In fact, up at the pulpit, she was smiling through tears, her voice remaining strong, even when it seemed she was ready to break. "And even now as I think of all the things we did together…together as a family…" She smiled again, her eyes falling down to her hands. "I think of the things that he'll miss. Things like walking me down the aisle. Or walking my sister down the aisle and he'll miss things like seeing his grandchildren or his son graduating from college and…." She continued on, her voice far stronger now and the words tumbling eloquently from her lips, soft and steady.

Meanwhile, in the pew, she looked back at the casket. You did well, she thought again. You'll be greatly missed. Who will I have to get angry with over late night phone calls for football advice? At least they'd been in another state for the last few years. And yet she felt something ache a little in her stomach that if they ever moved back there would be no more phone calls in the middle of the night. No more random visits and hushed conversations like they were two master spies instead of a Booster and a coach, commiserating over something that one might consider silly. Not to him.

She hadn't really let herself cry, she thought, wiping a bit at her eyes again. She glanced sideways at Tyra, who seemed to be lost in thought. Behind Tyra was the new coach and his family, along with others who worked for the team. All around, she thought, trying not to be too obvious as she turned her head, were people. One of those things you didn't miss until they were gone, she thought, turning back and leaned closer to her husband. "I'll miss him too," she whispered.

"Yeah," Eric murmured. He let go of her hand, standing slowly as the pastor thanked the eulogizers and called up the pallbearers, as it was time to go to the cemetery.

She tossed her hair from her eyes, reaching over to wrap her arm around Gracie, who was so empathetic that she was crying, even if she didn't know who the funeral was even for. "Dad's a pallbearer?" she whispered, looking up. Yeah. She smiled as her husband joined Tim, Billy, Bud, Stan Straub, and Matt. Off to the side, she saw movement, as a man in a wheelchair, carrying the second wreath that would be laid on top, followed them down the aisle and outside, while the family trailed behind him.

"Let's go," she said, standing up and walking out, her hand clasped in Gracie's, stopping at the doorway to watch the casket slide into the hearse.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"You're crying."

Huh, Tami thought, wiping at her eyes. Mascara be damned She sniffed, the tears streaming down her face. "Yeah," she whispered, taking a deep breath. "I guess I am."


	5. Jason

**Jason**

"She's not talking to anyone, don't bother."

You know best friend of mine, you can at least try, Jason thought, scowling up at the other man, who was leaning against the doorway between the house and the porch. He shook his head, frowning at the tumbler of whiskey between the other man's fingertips. "I thought you didn't really drink liquor?"

"Exception for today."

Understandable. He leaned back in his chair, his head resting against the railing of the porch. They were somehow alone. They were pretty much outside and it was drizzling a bit; freezing cold rain on an equally cold day. Gosh this sucked, he thought, seeing the Christmas tree twinkling through the throng of people moving around through the house. What a time. He sighed, looking up and whispering. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs…I don't think she wants to…to deal with people right now. They're annoying her." He sighed, grumbling a bit and finishing his whiskey. "Annoying me too, now that I think about it."

People did funny things when others died, he thought, looking back into the house. For instance, Tyra's mother and his ex-wife were sitting on the couch, both of them sad and speaking cordially with each other. He swore he even saw them both laugh a little at one point. Détente, even amongst people who had a natural animosity and all the reason to dislike each other.

I need to talk with Coach, he thought to himself, looking back into the house, where Coach was speaking with Matt. It was so weird that they were all back together for this moment. He'd been meaning to get some sort of a reunion together of the 2006 State Champions, but it never materialized. Only person he ever spoke with was his best friend. And Smash, but a lot of that was work related.

He glanced back inside; Erin was talking with Julie and Tyra. Even though she didn't know anyone, she was really good at easing her way into conversations like she'd always been a part of them. He sighed, not wanting to go in and make the rounds like he probably should. He ran his tongue over his teeth, speaking quietly. "You still have those back stairs?"

A few minutes later, he was in his best friend's arms, being carried up the back staircase out of view of everyone and set carefully on the top step, waiting a few seconds for his wheelchair. A moment after that, he was wheeling himself quietly into one of the bedrooms upstairs, where she was sitting on a window seat, her feet drawn beneath her and staring out, her eyes vacant.

"I'll be downstairs," he heard from behind him and the door closed gently with a light click.

He wheeled himself over to her, smiling and reaching to touch her knee, turning himself so he could face her. "Beautiful eulogy," he commented. He hadn't seen her in years. Not since one Christmas when he'd come back to visit with his parents and show off Noah and she was stopping by on her way to California to see her mother. Hell, that was eight years ago, he thought. He smiled sadly. It had just been the two of them. The other side of their triangle had been locked up. Neither wanted to go and see him…it was for the best, because both were sure that if they'd arrived, they'd have been turned away.

"Yeah," she murmured, not moving from the window. She reached between her thigh and the picture frame, removing something from beneath the pillow and cranked open the window. He stared in shock as she removed a cigar from a package and slipped it between her lips. A second later, she'd lit it and blown out a stream of smoke through the window. She removed it a second later, studying the Monte Cristo. "You know," she drawled, lifting a slim eyebrow. "I found these when we were looking through his room for a suit. Figured I'd smoke one for him. Here, you want one?"

"Um, no thanks." He smoked cigars once in a blue moon, usually with a client when he had to play the part of the suave agent, but he didn't like it. He frowned a little. "You want to ease up there?"

She also had a glass of whiskey in her hands and was drinking it like water. A second later, she puffed on the cigar, blowing more smoke through the window. It was cold, the winds from an impending storm seemingly blowing it back into the room, but she didn't care and he didn't move to tug his jacket closer. "Beautiful eulogy," she murmured again and shook her head. "I didn't say anything that those people cared about."

"They cared. Or else they wouldn't have been there."

"Yeah right. Where were those people when he needed them? He alienated everyone. He screwed them over and they went running. And when he tried to give back, they didn't care."

The extremes with which she was probably feeling was pretty evident in how she was talking. You feel angry because those people weren't there when he needed help, but you understand why because you've been there too, on the receiving end of what happened when a selfish act when wrong. "I think they cared, in the end. He was a big part of our lives."

She didn't acknowledge what he'd just said. Her voice was faraway; maybe she even thought he'd gone, he didn't know. "You know he wanted grandchildren. Once I got good at my job and turned thirty, he started putting more pressure on me than my mom." She finished her whiskey, smiling darkly. "I don't know what he wanted from me in the end and…and even if in the end I feel like I let him down…I do know I could have been there more."

"You were living your life."

"What life?" she scoffed. "Ignoring his phone calls for Sunday dinner? Going to school as far away as possible for the last eight years? Working my ass off in a job that no one respects the way they should? Screwing Tim whenever the mood strikes me and we happen to not have anyone else at the time?" she snapped, angrily blowing out more smoke through the window. This is not you, he thought, as she glared at him again, her high voice positively biting. You're sad. You're upset. You're pushing everything down to be strong for everyone else and it is backfiring. She jabbed the cigar at him. "You're trying to make me feel better. I don't need that right now Jason. I get enough of it from my little screw buddy out there."

Okay, that was it. Enough coddling. "Your little screw buddy just planned this entire funeral and is downstairs glad-handing people and accepting condolences on your behalf and making you eat and giving a eulogy when he knew it would be too difficult for you. He's lessening your burden so you can grieve," he snapped. He knocked is knuckles into her ankle, forcing her to sit up farther. "And by the way, that's not what screw buddies do. That's what boyfriends and husbands and people who love you do. You think your dad would want you to be like this? The guy I knew wouldn't. The guy I knew would want you to celebrate and to love. Not sit up here and feel sorry for yourself because you might have upset him at some point and not been forgiven before it was too late. Accept it. He's gone. He's gone and he loved you no matter what and he knew it and so do you."

That's what's so sad, he thought, shaking his head and whispering, his eyes wide on hers. She was going to break, he thought. Eventually. Maybe not right now, but this was one step closer to it. "I know it's been a long time since we've spoken or even seen each other, but I love you," he whispered. "So much. I just can't stand seeing you like this because it isn't you. I'll be here for you no matter what, but not when you're going to be like this because it isn't you. Just accept it. It's going to hurt so much. Like a knife to your gut and you think you're going to die, but accept it. Just let it inside and realize you couldn't do anything different."

Do you think I don't know what it's like to lose something? I may not have lost a parent, but I lost a way of living. When you accept it, you want to scream for the rest of your life, but then you realize and you just…you just go forward, because you don't have any other option besides anger and bitterness and what kind of a life is that?

She looked over at him, the cigar smoldering in her fingers. She shoved it into an ashtray he didn't notice was sitting next to her knee and pushed it onto the windowsill, along with her glass. "Thank you," she whispered, climbing off the stool and leaned over, kissing him lightly and hugging him.

He returned the hug and watched as she left. The door opened again, when he was about to turn to go, and he nodded as his friend leaned inside. "Everything okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah." He ran his tongue over his teeth and wheeled himself towards the door. "She's going to fall apart soon. Probably when it's all over tonight, but…but she's going to be okay. I just don't think she quite knows how to handle it…her usual way wasn't working." Throwing yourself into ignorance wasn't going to help in this situation, not like it had worked as a bandaid for her when he'd gotten paralyzed. He smiled a little and whispered. "You should get downstairs and be with her. She should eat too, she's been drinking and smoking."

"Well that explains the smell." He shrugged. "She smoking anything good? As nice as that might be about now, I can't get caught with that crap."

"Cigars." But the image of her smoking a joint was hilarious. He'd have to remember that one for when he wanted a laugh.

He nodded, his hands still in his pockets. "Yeah. Well. We better get downstairs."

"Give me a minute." After the door closed again, he glanced out the window, looking out over the land. It was really beautiful, especially with the sun setting on the lightly frosted hills. He looked up at the sky, which was still crystal clear, not one cloud. We'll miss you, he thought, thinking of the guy that he long thought would be his father-in-law. He'd been so angry with him for a while, after the final breakup, but then he'd realized that all the other guy had been trying to do was support and love and care for his daughter. It made sense.

We'll miss you, he thought, turning and wheeling himself to the door, returning back to the wake going on downstairs.


	6. Matt

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! And yes, I LOVE writing Lyla off her rocker. It's an interesting concept and she is my favorite character, even more than Tim. Enjoy! :)

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**Matt**

I hate funerals. Gosh they're horrible. He stood next to Mrs. Taylor…Tami, he thought. Five years of marriage and he still thought of his mother-in-law as Mrs. Taylor. He smiled a little at that, reaching over to refill his drink. He smiled again at her. She'd been watching him a little more than he was used to today. "You okay Matt?" she asked, when he stepped back beside her.

"I'm fine," he assured her. He glanced across the room, spying Tyra talking with his wife. They seemed to be well into a conversation, so he didn't want to interrupt. His father-in-law was talking with the former coach's guild of Dillon, he thought with a wry smile, and that was not something he wanted to get into.

He glanced out the corner of his eye, seeing someone sneaking off out through the side door. Perfect, he thought, setting his glass down and walking through the throng of people, sneaking out onto the porch. "You know for the host you shouldn't really be sneaking off," he said, walking down the edge of the porch.

"I don't think they'll notice," the other man said, cracking open a beer expertly. He passed it over and reached for another from the six-pack sitting on a small wrought iron stand beside him. He shook his head, whispering. "I had to get out of there. If I have one more person come up to me and say what a great person he was…"

"Or what a great speech it was."

"How sorry they are."

"And how much they'll miss him," he finished, smiling a little and taking a sip of beer. Yeah. He knew all the cliché phrases. Heard them all at his father's funeral and he heard them all again a couple of years ago at Grandma's funeral. He swallowed hard, wondering what she would think about this whole thing. Probably would have told everyone sobbing around to just suck it up and stop crying. That it wouldn't have made sense.

Everyone should be drinking or something, he thought. Celebrating. Seemed too…mournful for a funeral of this type of person. At Grandma's funeral everyone had been semi-happy and celebratory for her life that they all got to know her. Mostly because Coach and Mrs. Taylor had made it clear, because he really couldn't, that Grandma had told them all before she died that she didn't want people crying at her funeral. "You make sure of it Matthew," she'd said, in brief moments of lucidity before her body finally gave out. He was grateful, to whatever was in power at that moment, that she'd been asleep. Just drifted off.

He fiddled with the cap to the bottle of beer in his hand. "Where is she?" he asked.

"Making rounds, I think she's going to kill people if they stay too much longer."

I was kind of like that too. He glanced back into the living room; Julie was talking to Erin Street. Jason was with Buddy Jr. and the other one, the sister, but he couldn't remember her name. Even if he'd talked to her for awhile earlier, both of them artists. He glanced back at Tim, who was finishing his beer. "Were you there?"

They didn't need to talk about what that was. Tim sighed, nodding and closing his eyes. "Yeah. It sucked. She wasn't there, but…I got the doctor to let her see him. I think she needed it."

Yeah, you need that confirmation. All I saw was bits and pieces. At least she had a whole thing to bury, he thought darkly. He sighed hard again, his voice quiet. "It's going to be weird without him." He hadn't been back to Dillon in years. Grandma's funeral not withstanding. Not for a long time. Just a couple of days to visit her every couple of months. And he hadn't been back at all in the two years since her funeral. It was just going to be so weird, even he knew that. He didn't want to be there for the next football game. He looked up. "They going to rename the field or something?"

"I don't even think they know how to fill the job."

"You should be the next King of the Boosters," he teased. Tim shot him a look that had him swallowing hard. "Okay, nevermind."

The other guy chuckled slightly after the death glare. "I don't have the patience for it."

"Naw, probably not." They delved back into quiet, just drinking their beer. A few more minutes passed and without a word, Tim went into the house, leaving the door open. He sighed, looking out at the land. This was a nice place to settle down, he thought, lifting his eyes to the porch ceiling. Really nice.

The door opened again and he smiled over his shoulder when he saw who it was. "Hi."

"I wanted to thank you for the photographs," she said, her hands folded delicately in front of her. She quirked her lip in a faint smile. Ghostly, he thought, as her eyes were still sort of dull. "I didn't realize that Tim asked you to do that. It was a nice touch and thank you." She swallowed hard, her smile a little tighter. "Do I owe you anything for them?"

He shook his head; you could only be strong for so long before you kind of fell apart. Only numb for so long. "No," he whispered. He pushed his beer aside on the porch railing, leaning back against it and shoving his hands into his pockets. "No you don't owe me anything."

She smiled again, blinking quickly. Her breathing rattled slightly as she released a breath. "Does it…" She took another deep breath and lifted her eyes; the determined look was gone, replaced with uncertainty. "It occurred to me that…that you lost your father too. Granted…yours was far more unexpected than mine…"

"No one expects to lose their parents young," he said, interrupting her. He shook his head. "And don't say we're not young, you know? It wasn't like he had cancer or dementia or something and you were preparing for years or months or whatever. This was not what you prepared for you know? And if you…" Hell, he was never close with her. They didn't run in the same circles, never had and to be honest, they probably never would. But something like this…there wasn't anyone in their group of friends from Dillon that could say they truly understood what it was like. Not even Tyra or Tim, whose parents just up and left them, but didn't die on them. Not like ours, he thought, hoping that he could at least…well he wasn't going to be her best friend, but at least he wanted her to know he understood.

Of all the people in our group, I understand, he thought, smiling a little. "It does get better," he whispered, his grip tightening on the railing. His throat constricted and he felt his heart kind of skip at the memory, of burying his father. Each shovel of dirt, he pushed him away and with each shovel of dirt, he stepped a little farther back from allowing it to completely consume him. To forgive him.

She stepped a little closer, her arms wrapped tight around herself. "It does?" she asked.

"Yeah. You just have to let yourself do it." Maybe it's different for you. He quirked his lip, his voice slightly stilted. "At least you…at least he was…" How do I say this without sounding like a horrible person? I don't like hating people. He took a deep breath, whispering. "I don't like hating people, but I…my dad wasn't like yours. At least yours was a dad."

She leaned her shoulder against the railing, whispering. "I don't know about that…I mean…he was a good dad when the time called for it, but other times…" She took another breath, lifting to wipe at her eyes briefly. "I guess it doesn't matter because he's gone and I miss him and I just…" She pressed her hand into her stomach. "It just hurts, you know?"

I know. Believe me, I know. "It gets better. I know you don't believe me, but of all people…" He took another breath, whispering. "You should believe me."

They were quiet for another moment more. Hopefully I didn't overstep myself, he thought, glancing sideways at her. He couldn't read her; he didn't know her. She swallowed visibly and smiled, turning her head towards him. Tears tracked down her cheeks. "Thank you," she gasped. He looked down; her hand was clutching his wrist. She nodded quickly. "Thank you Matt. I believe you."

Good. He hopped off the railing and squeezed her hand, looking up when the door opened. She looked over her shoulder and let go of his wrist. He smiled quickly, stepping by Tim. "She's all yours," he whispered, clapping him on the shoulder. Hopefully I helped. I think I did.

Inside, he found Julie, who was still talking with Tyra, the both of them in a study of sorts. "This is so depressing," Julie said, when he approached her. She frowned. "Where have you been?"

"Nowhere," he answered. He'd tell her later, but right now he didn't want to dredge up those feelings. He kissed her temple. "She'll be fine."

Julie frowned again. "Who will be fine?" She shivered a little. "I hate funerals. They just…I just hate them."

You and me both, he thought, finishing off his beer bottle and setting it down on the desk, leaning back and zoning out while she continued to talk to Tyra.


	7. Julie

**Julie**

Where the hell is my dad, she wondered, turning in a quick circle in the middle of the living room. The house was beginning to empty out, mostly because, at least she thought, no one could really talk anymore about one person. Julie sighed, picking up a few glasses from the coffee table, glancing down at the rings they'd made on the wood. If that happened at her house, her mother would have killed someone. She didn't think Tim would care.

She carried the glasses into the kitchen, putting them in the sink and glancing around. There were empty dishes, glasses, and chafing dishes around the counters. The caterers were cleaning up on their end, but she felt like getting her fingers moving. It was the least we could do, she thought, wondering once again where her dad had run off to. She hadn't had a chance to speak with him much through the afternoon and early evening. He had a lot of connections to this town, her mother told her, when she'd complained earlier. Let him make his rounds and talk to people.

She walked down a hallway, seeing her husband talking to Jason Street. Their wedding had been so small and inexpensive that she didn't want to invite every single person they ever spoke with, and there weren't many opportunities in the last few years to get everyone together. It's sad that it's someone's death that has to get us to talk to each other, she thought, glancing upstairs. Maybe Dad went upstairs.

The stairs creaked beneath her feet and she craned her neck around as she turned a corner on the landing, going up a couple more steps before she reached the top. Huh, she thought, realizing that she'd actually never been upstairs before. There was a doorway right beside her, with another set of stairs leading downstairs, to what she thought was the mudroom off the side porch. Like an old-fashioned farmhouse, she thought, walking by it and turning her head slightly into a room in what she gathered was the front of the house. "Hey Daddy," she said, seeing him sitting back in a chair, alone, and looking outside. She smiled, walking in and over to sit on a small twin bed beside him. She glanced around the room. "What room is this?"

"Baby room," he said, pointing to a crib pushed against the wall. He shook his head at her startled look, chuckling. "I asked. It's not for them, it's…used to be for Billy's kids."

"Oh." She didn't like being in a room with a crib and her father. It might open up too many questions, she thought, glancing at him. He didn't seem to be focusing on that though, his attention outside. "Is there something interesting out there?"

He shook his head, flicking the curtain back a little and pointing. "I didn't realize you could see clear to the county line from here."

"Isn't that like four miles out or something?"

"About five, I think. Tim owns all the way to the oil fields, out that way." He pointed again, his voice soft again. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "This would be a beautiful place to settle down. Like he did."

She cleared her throat, crossing her legs and folding her hands beneath her knees. "Well you know," she said, wondering what exactly she was supposed to say to that. She smiled. "I mean…wouldn't say Tim's settled down Daddy."

"He built a house. He has a job. He's going to get married. I'd say he's settled down."

Okay then. He's settled down, fine, don't be so touchy. Damn. She closed her eyes briefly. Of course he'd be touchy. It's a lot to take, she told herself. Just be there. She moved a little closer to him. "Would you come back?"

"I don't know." It sure seemed like it. Talking about the land and settling down. The way you were talking to the coaches earlier. What would you do Daddy? As far as I know, Billy Riggins isn't leaving. He sighed, rocking back slightly in the chair. "I talked to Billy Riggins. He's got a job offer at Texas A&M."

Whoa. That was a big deal. "Yeah? Would he leave Dillon?"

"He's strongly considering it. It's just an assistantship, nothing to write home about, but it gets you started." He sighed again, rocking back and turning his head away from the window. This whole thing had been hard on him, but she hadn't seen him really show any sort of…well she didn't expect her father to break down into tears or anything. If he did, it would be her mother that saw that, not her, but…there was just something so sad and conflicted about him right now. "Where's Gracie?" he asked.

"She's downstairs helping cleanup. Most people have gone home. Tyra took her mother and Matt left with Jason and Erin. I wanted to wait on you and Mom." She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling quickly. Mom. Always the helper. "Mom is putting food in Tupperware containers for them for the next week."

He chuckled. "I think they'll appreciate it."

"Yeah, Lyla's kind of…" She shrugged. She hadn't spoken with her much that day. Not that she was close to her or there were many opportunities. The other woman had disappeared when they got back from the memorial service at the gravesite and she'd just given her a brief hug and condolences otherwise. She shrugged again, shaking her head and whispering. "I don't know where Lyla is. Hiding, I guess."

"Her father died."

Yeah. I just can't…she shivered at the thought. "I don't know what to think of that," she whispered. She was twenty-eight. Lyla was only thirty. How could it have been like that so fast? Just there and then he wasn't. They were still young. It isn't like we're all married with kids and our parents are in nursing homes or something. It was just so sudden. "Was it a heart attack?" she asked.

He nodded, whispering. "Tim said it was a heart attack, but they were going to take him to surgery for a bypass. He had another heart attack before they took him in. Lyla got there in time, thankfully." She was in school, she thought, trying to remember. Doctor or something, she thought. Or maybe she was getting her doctorate in something. It didn't matter.

Heart attack. Geez. So quick. Matt's dad got blown up in a truck in Iraq and Lyla's dad's heart gave out. Two very different things with the same outcome. No dad. She raked her fingers through her hair. "I just can't imagine…I try, but…I don't know what to say." She felt tears pricking her eyes, whispering. "He's gone and now…now you're going to come back to Dillon and I just…I can't imagine losing you." It's a lot going on right now. She moved a little closer to him, whispering. "I just see Lyla and…I mean I never thought of Buddy like…" As old or anything. Now he was gone.

Her dad smiled a little and got up from the chair, sitting beside her on the bed and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, whispering. "I'm not going anywhere. That I know of, so you don't have to worry about that and…and Buddy wasn't healthy, you know that and I know it and Lyla and…and it's not right, but it's the way it goes, you know?" Yeah, I know, but the idea of it…she shivered again. It was just scary to her. "And Dillon…it's just a thought. Lots of memories are…are coming up after this."

Yes. That was true. Tons of memories. She wiped at her eyes, letting go of him and whispering. "It just scares me." Maybe…she took a deep breath, whispering. "I'll visit you guys more." She skipped Gracie's birthday last August and she missed their anniversary. Too busy, she'd said, to stop her writing and come out and see them. I'm not going to do that anymore.

He kissed her temple and gave her another hug. "I love you Julie. I'm not going anywhere."

It didn't really matter, she thought again, hugging him tighter and wiping at her eyes. I promise I'll call more. I'll visit more. I won't just let you go and then get a phone call like the Garrity family. She closed her eyes tighter and hugged him harder, not wanting to let him go yet.


	8. Lyla

**A/N:**Couldn't get Billy's chapter right, so I'm skipping him and going straight to the finale. Hope everyone enjoyed, despite the angst. Thanks :)

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**Lyla**

One week, she thought, opening up the fridge and removing a tin leftover container, tossing it into the trash. She shook her head. "What did people think when they left us with all this food? That we'd eat our sorrows away? It's going to waste, I thought they'd take it." She opened up one container, wrinkling her nose and poking at it with a fork. "What is this? Is this chicken?"

He leaned over her shoulder, opening up his mystery tin container. "Um…I think Mindy made it. Whatever it used to be."

In the trash it went, but she appreciated the sentiment. "Remind me to thank her for it," she said, shuffling around the kitchen island and leaning her forearms on the counter while he took over cleaning the fridge. Unlike her, he sniffed things and then complained when they smelled bad. "Just throw it all out," she advised. It was a week old. Nothing in there would have lasted a few days. She frowned slightly. "Why do people bring food to funerals? It's like a thing, you know? They stuff you with food."

"I think food makes things better," he said, tossing out a couple more tins. He removed some Tupperware containers. "I think these are Mindy's."

"Check the bottoms, sometimes people put their names on them so you don't think it's yours and keep it."

"Do I look like someone that has Tupperware?" he asked, smiling and carrying the empty containers to the sink, dumping them in after he'd finished scraping out whatever was left in them. He ran some water and squirted in a ton of soap. That's going to take you forever, she thought, frowning. "I think people bring food because it's comforting."

Yeah, well…she appreciated it. She appreciated everyone's contribution. Matt with his photos, Coach Taylor with his…presence and Mrs. Taylor for her motherly comfort. My own mother wasn't capable of that. I have expected her to tapdance on his grave, she thought, still at a loss for why her mom decided to venture out of California. Probably for my brother and sister's sake, she was closer with them. I was Daddy's girl. I was the one who was closest to him. Always had been. She rubbed at her forehead. The initial raw ache and pain was gone. It was dull. She'd picked up the phone that morning to call him before she remembered. It felt like a gnawing under her breastbone. She rubbed at it, just thinking. We need to do something. I have to go back to work next week. You have to go back to work…we have to move on with our lives, start anew without him. She shook her hand through her hair. "I can't believe Christmas is tomorrow," she murmured. I can't believe it's even Christmas Eve. She twisted her hands around in front of her, thinking of a couple things she had to do. She rubbed at her chest again with the heel of her hand.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she murmured. Just got a lot on my mind. She smiled briefly. "Just missing him is all." It's just a lot to get used to. Something people shouldn't have to get used to, but it was part of life. I just didn't think I'd have to deal with it so soon, she thought, closing her eyes briefly.

He nodded, dropping the hand towel he was using to dry off from washing a couple of the dishes. The rest were still floating on top of the mountain of bubbles. She sighed. Domesticity. They did it quite fine, but it felt so awkward. "You going to go back to Austin?" he asked.

She nodded briefly. I have to go back to Austin. I have to go back to work. To my condo. To my plants…which are probably dead now, she thought, sighing, as she's spent the last two weeks with him. She rubbed at her forehead, thinking. I have to go to the drugstore, she thought, glancing up at him again. As if this could be happening now, of all times. She took a deep breath. "Let's go out. I want out of this house." She nibbled her lower lip. "Tabby and Bud are cleaning out the condo right now….I know that Coach and Billy were going to go over there. I need to check…see if there's anything I might want."

"A million dollars?" he teased. He reached over for her hand, squeezing it and lifting it to his lips for a kiss. "It'll be fine."

We'll see, she thought, sighing hard. She nodded towards the front door. "Let's go."

Several minutes later, they were in her father's condo, which seemed so empty. Most of the furniture had been rented, so that was easy enough to get rid of. Photos were in boxes, to be divvied up. Bud said he didn't want much. Tabby said she didn't want anything. And me? Well I just want to get out of here, she thought, sitting cross-legged in what used to be her old bedroom, flicking through old photo albums that Billy found in the closet, when he'd been wrapping up old football trophies to go back to the school.

"How are you sweetheart?"

She glanced up, smiling when Mrs. Taylor entered the room, sitting down on the floor beside her. "Oh you know…just looking at some stuff. Seems like a million years ago," she murmured, smiling at a picture of her father with dark hair and not white, holding her on his knee when she had to be about two-years old. Wearing a Panthers cheerleading outfit. My destiny was written for me at the time, she thought, touching a curling photograph in the corner, of her on the sidelines of the Pee Wee football league, beside a surly kid with long hair.

"Who is that?" Mrs. Taylor asked, pointing.

"Oh you know. The smallest kid on the football team. No one wanted him to play, he was too small and kept getting hit." She glanced sideways at Mrs. Taylor who was frowning, trying to place him. A smile crossed her face, pulling wide at the corners. "That would be Dillon's very own Big Tim Riggins when he was six."

"Oh my God! He's so little!"

"Well he fought back and got big." She turned the page, pointing to another picture. "This was when I was eight, I think. Daddy got invited to some big event in Austin. First time I got to play the part of the perfect angelic daughter, while he showed off small-town Texas and got money for uniforms or something." She kept turning pages, as Mrs. Taylor asked polite questions, pointing things out. Walk down memory lane, she thought, finally closing the album after seeing the last photo of them as a family, before Jason's accident. Then there were no more pictures.

That night changed a lot of things for everyone, she thought, frowning slightly. She looked up when the door creaked open. Speak of the devil, she thought, as he wheeled in slowly to the room. "Pretty much everything is packed away. The realtor's here to survey the condo. Do you want to…" He trailed off at her eyebrow lift. "No problem. I'll deal with it. Your brother and sister want to go out to lunch."

"I'll see them later, I have things I need to do. Where is Tim?"

"Having a beer with Coach."

"It's only one in the afternoon," Mrs. Taylor exclaimed. She waved her hand, sighing. "Whatever, nevermind. Thank you Jason."

"Sure." The door closed a second later and she stood up, putting the album in a box to go back to her house in Austin. Most of it was going to end up in her basement, until such time as someone else wanted to clean it out. Or at least until she went through it all again. The photos she'd keep. Some she even wanted to display.

"What's on your mind?"

A hell of a lot is on my mind Mrs. Taylor. She glanced over, shaking her head, thinking about…about a lot. She took a deep breath. Of all people…Mrs. Taylor was the one person that she was sure anyone could tell their deepest, darkest secrets to and never hear wind of them again. She was the first person she'd broken down to about the whole affair thing. At sixteen that had been devastating. The end of life as she knew it. Her reputation. Her high-school relationship. Now it seemed trivial in light of things like death. She glanced at Mrs. Taylor again. I need to get this off my chest. "You ever wonder why things match up the way they do?" she whispered, her hand smoothing over the top of the box. She picked up a marker, writing "Photos" on it in neat cursive.

"It depends on what's matching up."

She shrugged, looking over the top of the box at a stack in the corner of knickknacks. "Like…like life and death, you know? Things happening and…things like…like my dad dying and two weeks later I…" She took another breath, her voice steady, looking straight at Mrs. Taylor. "Two weeks later I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant." Probably shouldn't have been drinking as much at the funeral. Or smoking those cigars.

Shock didn't register with Mrs. Taylor. She received a tiny smile in return. "Oh? Are you sure?"

"No. It could very well just be nerves and stress. It just matches up and…and I feel different."

"You should probably make sure before you start doing things or telling people." Her eyebrow lifted. "Certain people."

Yeah. It was probably stress. Wasn't like a lot's happened to me in the past month, she thought sarcastically. Her hand smoothed over the box again. "I just find it odd that if I am…Daddy dies and I'm pregnant? He misses it all just by a few weeks?" She shook her head, whispering again. "I know things work in mysterious ways. God works in mysterious ways. I just wonder about it all sometimes. I mean…Daddy is gone." He's gone. It got easier to say. She closed her eyes tight. "And everyone comes back to Dillon and now things are changing. It does things."

Mrs. Taylor covered her hand. Her voice was firm and steady. "Death is an interesting concept Lyla. It brings people together, more even than weddings sometimes or births. People bury the hatchet for just a few minutes after someone's died. Other people make promises. Some they keep and some they don't. It often clarifies things. Makes you realize that life is not forever. I've already had both my daughters say they love me more in the last week than they have in the last year." She quirked her lip. "Coach wants to move back to Dillon and even I'm thinking of what that might mean for us and for me. And the guy you've been practically married to for the last couple years is most likely thinking of how he's going to make that permanent." She shrugged, squeezing her hand again. "If you are pregnant, I'd say that's just the way God had things planned. Reminding you that there is life after death, even if you may have some regrets about your father and what you may have done or said, in the end…it just keeps going."

She smiled, turning and reaching to hug the other woman. Thank you, she thought. She hugged her tighter and finally let go, carrying a box out to the truck. A couple of hours later, everything was empty and she left as Bud locked up the condo and passed the keys to the realtor. The truck rumbled along down the street, full of boxes that she'd have to have him drive back to Austin for her, because she didn't have room in her SUV.

Her hand slipped over to his, fiddling with his fingers. "Let's go see him," she whispered.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." This is the first of what I believe will be many visits. Just to check on it, make sure the bushes and plants around it weren't dying or overtaking the headstone. Almost an hour later, they stopped at the base of the hill. She'd chosen a spot that looked straight towards the football field, which you could even see if you squinted. It seemed fortuitous that that plot was open.

Oh good, they finished with it. There hadn't been a headstone when they buried him, they were still making it. She didn't want anything gaudy and that was pretty much all she'd said. Tim took over from there; she trusted him. She approached the grave and stopped, looking down at the smooth-faced gray granite. "I still didn't know that his first name was really Buddy. Always thought it was a nickname," he said beside her, his arm going around her waist.

She dropped her head to his shoulder, nodding. "Yup."

"If we ever have kids, would you name them after him? If it was a boy or something?" he asked, his voice faltering a little.

She smiled, thinking of the little secret she was holding. "I don't know," she whispered, looking down at the headstone again. He wasn't very old. Only in his late fifties. That's what not taking care of yourself would do, she thought again, still a little angry at him for that. She looked up at the sky. "It's not raining anymore," she whispered. In fact, it was sunny again. Cold, but sunny. Christmas Eve. Hell, it was Christmas Eve. She shrugged. "Maybe like a middle name or something."

"We haven't talked about that."

You're awfully chatty right now. She smiled, kneeling down and running her knuckles over the engraving. I kind of lost my mind there for a moment, but now…now even the ache felt like it wasn't so bad anymore. I'll miss you, she thought, wishing he were there even in that moment. It got better, Matt said. She believed him. Move on, Jason said, and she would. She stood up and turned away, walking down the hill.

"So Tyra texted me a second ago. Said they're all at the bar. Shots to his memory or something. Guess a ton of people are there. You want to go?"

"Yeah." She pursed her lips, trying not to smile. "I might not drink, but it sounds nice. Who all is there?"

"Everyone, she says. Said the time for mourning is gone and now it's the party. Whatever that means."

Something tells me Tyra isn't broken up about my father's death like most people, but she didn't mind. Everyone grieved in their own way and it would be nice for everyone to be together without a gloomy sadness over them. Time to celebrate the life, she thought.

He glanced sideways, a moment later, frowning. "Why aren't you going to drink?"

She shrugged, looking up at the sky. "Just a precaution. You know how I get when I drink." She slipped her hand into her pocket, removing something that the doctor had given her with his effects. She didn't want to give it away to anyone else. It was something she planned to keep and maybe even pass down.

"Yeah. I guess." He didn't seem convinced.

We'll see, she thought, twisting the old State championship ring around in her fingers, smiling softly.

**THE END**


End file.
